The Watcher of Souls

Updated on November 5, 2017

Photo by Doug Ware - used with permission

The Watchers of Souls

A Fiction by JP Silva 2017
(Photo by Doug Ware - used with permission)

My name is Sofia and I have a story to tell.

Mine, is a story about my family, the death of my brother and an angelic battle between Heaven and Hell for the souls of my family, by what appeared to be a wayward ghost who entered our world.

It is a story that revealled to my family that death is but a window between the house of life we live in today, and the world of heaven, or hell, we live in for eternity. But, it is also a place where Heaven and Hell battles for our souls, and our transformation is fraught with the painful endeavors of dying, or the suffering anguish we feel as survivors.

The story is also about regret and mistrust, where lost opportunities and short sightedness left me with a sorrow of grief that could not be measured. It is also a story about ghosts that surround the doorway of death. For our family, that place was "The Tank".

It is a warning, not to still the Hand of God, for who can hold back the tides of the seas, but to still the short sightedness that comes with life and choices. Choices, that when death comes for us, with the harshness that death loves to bring to the dying, but also the inevitable consequences for our miscalculations as survivors that we get to feel the pain our sentence.

As survivors, we are not free of ourselves, as are the dead, but we must face a jury of one, ourselves, for our actions. We become the bailiff in the courts of justice for our crimes and holding us in the prison of our judgements by both our guilt and our ignorance. For death cripples the mind and suffocates the heart for all those affected, and makes a poor witness on our own behalf, for they died too.

How, you may ask?

This wonder is both the reason for the joy we held in life, and the pain we feel in death. It is in the spirit that we are tied to the dead. Particularly, by the nature and virtue of God's eternal love. A love granted only to the lovers of souls. So, when the dead die, that part of the survivor's spirit dies too. It is the feeling of your heart and soul being wrenched, crushed and ripped out of your chest, with a portion being torn off, not cut off, sewn back into your chest, held closed together by a crushing foot for weeks as your body and soul tries to heal.

But the funerals for these invisible dead are only held in the minds and hearts of the survivors soul. There are not allowed to be part of the dead's funeral and so must be suffered alone, but for those who are loved.

With that death comes regrets that abound and so easily besets our hearts and captures our soul, casting us into a despair. These deaths, become the windows between Heaven and Earth, where angels battle for our souls. And a place where ghosts haunt in the shadows, and where these menacing agents of fear seek to bind us in chains of false hopes and lies.

Here then is a warning to still the faith in those vapors of the night. For they bear nothing good and are deceitful to the soul.

(River analogy)

So, with that, I will begin my story where it begins by a river. A very dangerous river. The Rio, short for what is called the Rio Grande. A river where many have died, drowned by their ignorance.

My brother Jose was a great swimmer. He had practiced many times on that river, tied to a rope by my father and he and his brothers trained Jose to cross while carrying bags of sand. He was to be a Rio Lifeguard for public and private parties.

Jose was sleek and muscular. Handsome and attractive in all his manners, even if I do say so myself. As his older sister, watching over my little brother and seeing him grow up in more private and vulnerable moments, I certainly could make more critical. But as a man to others, I am not blind to his attributes.

Jose was on his final crossing of the day, and as I saw him, I could tell he was exhausted.

Today, it was a family hanging off a capsized canoe. Jose had to swim out and carry ballon filled bags of sand, one at 40 lbs., and then two at 60 lbs. and finally two at 90 lbs.

As Jose swam up carrying the last of the 90 lbs. sacks, he was extremely exhausted.

Ironically, as I watched over him, that day was the day our world was to be rocked and a new Montero family was to be born.

That day, .... the Watchers of Souls came to the Montero family ....

© 2017 Silva


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    • nikkikhan10 profile image

      Nikki Khan 

      17 months ago from London

      Really enjoyed it,Nice story of death and souls.


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